In the last year, I have been pregnant three times. Yep, three times.
Actually a year ago today, I got my first positive pregnancy test. The day after our second wedding anniversary, the timing could not have been more perfect. Me and the hubs went out to celebrate the fact that we were going to be parents. We were so excited.
Over dinner, we talked about whether it would be a girl or boy. Though we had always talked about baby names, this time it was legit happening. We were having a kiddo.
Not even a week later and that celebration quickly turned into the worst pain of my life…actually our lives.
I got up for the day to get ready for work and went to the bathroom only to find a tissue full of blood. My stomach sunk. My world turned upside down. I didn’t want to believe it. I googled all of the mommy forums where women said they had spotting right after they found out they were pregnant. I tried to convince myself that this was just old blood making its way out.
A trip to the doctor later and it was confirmed a miscarriage. Doctor said it was just a “bad pregnancy.” I guess that was supposed to make me feel better. Yeah it didn’t.
And before I move on, YES I was for sure pregnant. See that’s the thing about early miscarriages, there’s always that person who questions if you “really were pregnant or not.” And to those people, yeah I saw the two pink lines and I felt the early stages of life forming in my body. Don’t. Ever. Question. That.
Mourning the loss of what would have been our biggest blessing, me and Gregory tried to remain positive and trust in God’s plan. I think the hardest part for me was falling into the arms of my husband and looking at him to tell him I found blood that morning before work. That look back at me is something that will be engrained in my brain for life. Shock. Disappointment. Confusion.
And then telling my family…because everyone knows that as soon as you get married that it’s all about the baby train. At least it was for my family. The constant questions about grandbabies and hypothetical talk. The phone call to tell my mom about the miscarriage was horrible…because a baby wasn’t just my dream. It had become the dream to everyone who loved us.
Gregory and I pushed forward on the journey to try to conceive. I was obsessive about reading blogs and forums, checking my temperature first thing in the morning and peeing on those ovulation sticks might as well have been a hobby.
Only those who are trying to conceive can fully understand the amount of pressure there is to get it right. Before educating myself, I thought it was easy. Don’t use protection and BAM! you’re pregnant.
It might be that simple for some, but our story wasn’t going to be like that. Timing was everything.
The waiting period from ovulation to the time you might find out what could be good news is torture. Every single twitch or pain or weird feeling is overanalyzed to make you ask yourself “Am I pregnant?”
This time around, I had some different signs. But I didn’t want to get too invested.
I decided on a whim to take a pregnancy test before Gregory went to work.
Jeeze those 3 minutes feel like forever.
The test came back positive. I couldn’t believe it. This time the emotions were not the same. I was shocked, but more than anything, I was scared.
I didn’t want to have to experience the pain of looking into my husband’s eyes again only to tell him we lost another baby. Or having to make the dreaded call to tell my parents that the names Grandma and Grandpa would be delayed again.
A week went by and things were looking good. No signs of changes. I had even set up my first prenatal appointment.
Gregory and I were starting to entertain baby talk again. Things were looking up.
The day before my appointment, I decided to take another pregnancy test. It was just reassuring to read the positive result.
This time the second line was barely there. I knew in my heart that something wasn’t right but thought maybe I drank too much water to dilute the result or maybe its because I didn’t test first thing in the morning.
That’s another thing. When you’re trying to conceive, you’ll pretty much convince yourself of anything.
The next morning, I woke up and went to the bathroom. Blood again.
At this point, I was numb. I didn’t even cry at first because I truly didn’t want to accept that my nightmare was happening again.
Thinking how is it that a couple who is married and happily in love can’t have a baby? Yet I knew many girls in high school who had babies at 16.
Terrible thought. I know.
On the search again for answers, I went to the doctor. This time taking my mom with me. After all, he was her doctor and he delivered my little sister.
That didn’t seem to matter at all when he looked me in the face and said “Until you have a third miscarriage, there’s nothing I can do for you.”
I’m sorry, what?!
Mad. Angry. Pissed. I wasn’t taking that BS as an answer.
God must have been with me because he kicked my ass in gear and instilled in me the confidence I needed. I was the one in control of my body and getting answers. Not some doctor with a complete lack of care and empathy.
Again, Gregory and I trusted in God’s plan. It’s really all we could do at this point because being mad wasn’t going to get us anywhere.
So we prayed.
I got into another doctor. Within a week, I had my first initial appointment and a full blood panel…16 vials of blood later and our prayers were answered.
I got the answer to what was wrong with me.
I found out that I have two blood clotting disorders, which were keeping my pregnancies from progressing any further.
From that day and still to this day, I take 11 pills and give myself a shot every day.
Yeah yeah poor Brandi. I don’t see it that way though. I would do anything to be able to carry a child.
And God knew that. So on the journey to conceive continued. We were going to continue to hope for a positive.
That day came a few months later.
I wish I could say that we were excited when we got another positive pregnancy test, but we weren’t.
Every day was full of anxiety and we avoided baby talk. Because for all we knew this whole dream could be taken away again.
It wasn’t until the first ultrasound and a confirmed heartbeat that Gregory and I started to feel happy that we were having a baby.
It was finally real.
It wasn’t until our gender reveal party that we actually accepted that we were going to be parents to a precious baby boy.
Every night I have prayed. The anxiety doesn’t just go away. And becoming pregnant again doesn’t just make the past hurt go away.
I’m weeks from giving birth to our baby Levi and my heart still hurts for those two babies that would have been our little blessings.
Miscarriages suck. They’re awful. Nothing and no one can prepare you for a miscarriage.
Oh and it’s some weird thing in society to not talk about miscarriages, which is complete crap.
It’s okay to talk about it and don’t you ever be ashamed.
And it’s okay to mourn the loss of what could have been.
And it’s okay to be pissed and angry.
You have that right.
There is no right way to handle a miscarriage.
I share all of this to give hope to those who may be struggling as well. You’re God’s beautiful mess.
Please know that you’re not alone. There’s plenty of other women and couples just like us out there with stories to share.
I do want to leave you with this. As hard as it will be, trust me, I know. Don’t let your heart envy others and their happiness with babies.
Their journey might have been very similar.
They probably prayed for their baby too.
And their heart probably weighs heavy for what could have been for them too.
– B –
Photos by Lyfe Photography